Perhaps because it felt less lonely there.
“The issue you were having with your coffee today was not the problem, Poppy. It was a symptom. Your magic, for lack of a better explanation… is turning cold.”
Several moments went by while she digested this. Fortunately, he didn’t need Roman’s ability to read minds just then to know what was going through hers. Her thoughts were written across her beautiful face and reflected in the glaciers of her eyes. She knew he was telling the truth, but she’d be damned if she knew what it meant.
“Okay,” she said slowly, running her palms along the sides of her jeans. They must have been sweating. She was nervous.
And she definitely wasn’t cold.
Oh, she’s the one, he thought with wonder. She’s practically on fire.
“I admit, things have been a little wonky. And yes… they’ve been a little cold.” She touched her forehead again, closing her eyes and turning away from him to take several steps in a kind of nervous pace. “I froze and shattered the confinement spell my best friend cast on me a few weeks ago, and then I accidentally froze the water in the scrying pool in Lalura’s training room, and – and – gods, loads of spells have gone wrong like that since then. Even my shower was cold this morning!” She shook her head and turned back to him. “But why?” she demanded. “What does this mean? Why is this happening?” She threw up her hands and gestured to the magnificent space around them. “Why the hell did my magic bring me here?”
He knew her unspoken questions were, “How are you involved? Are you dangerous? Do I need to fight you? Freeze you? Where do you fit into all of this?” And deeper down, he knew that her unconscious questions ran more along the lines of, “Is any of this really happening? Am I dreaming? Am I dead? And why the fuck am I not freezing?”
So it was with some difficulty that he decided which of her questions, spoken or unspoken, to answer first. “This is happening to you because your magic and your body are accepting the path that is your destiny.”
“Which is?” she demanded tightly.
He knew that even as he said it, her soul was already aware of what the answer would be. “This is your destiny, Poppy.” He gestured to the antechamber as well. Then he squared her with a look that said it all. “You are the Winter Queen.”
Chapter Fifteen
He really is insane.
Of course, she knew that already. He was some sort of supernatural stalker, remember? Her magic was going haywire, but it wasn’t for the reasons he’d suggested. Maybe she was under a lot of stress or maybe she was going through some sort of magical puberty or – something. He, on the other hand, was claiming to be one of the Thirteen Kings and telling her she was his queen. Classic psychopathic behavior if she’d ever seen it.
“Riiiight,” she said slowly. “Got it.”
Kristopher laughed. It wasn’t a chuckle, but a deep-throated, very real and deep kind of laugh that had him throwing back his gorgeous head as his massive chest heaved with every expelled breath. If he’d been a foot shorter, eighty pounds heavier with fat, and had a big, white fluffy beard, he would have reminded her of Santa Claus.
“Hey,” he said, shaking his head as he grinned ear to ear. “I totally get it. This is all nuts, and I’m with you on that. After all, I was once standing in the very spot you now stand, and I was thinking pretty much the same thing.”
She eyed him warily. He was so goddamn gorgeous, and so convincing. Was she on the verge of believing him? “Oh?” she asked. “When was that?”
“Approximately a thousand years ago. Give or take a few centuries.”
A thousand years. In her circle of friends and acquaintances, that meant almost nothing. She needed more.
“Tell me about it,” she said then.
He studied her for a moment before saying, “How about I show you instead?” He walked through the room, making a wide birth around her as if she were a skittish animal that might jump and run. Which she sort of was.
She turned with him as he moved and saw that he was headed toward one of four sets of doors, this pair the largest and intricately carved with designs that reminded her of Viking ships. As he approached the doors, they opened for him, slowly swinging outward as if on command.
He stopped in the doorway, and she could see another room beyond him, also the bright white and blue of ice. “If you’d care to come with me?” he said, gesturing for her to join him.
She hesitated. But then she realized that hesitating was pointless. She was in some bizarre, unknown locale, her magic – or his – had brought her here, and if she wanted out of this locale, doing so from one room would most likely be no different than doing so from another. Transport magic was transport magic, after all.
She took a deep breath, shrugged, and walked across the room to join him.
“Cold?” he asked as she approached.
She frowned and looked down at her Seattle city clothing, definitely not the parka and snow boots one would expect to be donning in a palace of ice. “No, actually,” she replied. That was odd. She should be freezing. Her magic couldn’t possibly be protecting her this time; it had been on the cold side for weeks.
“Good,” Kristopher said, nodding to himself. “This way.” He moved through the doors into another large room, and she saw that she’d been right. It too was carved entirely of ice. But this one was more ornately decorated than the antechamber.
And it was a throne room.
“Whoa…” she whispered, unaware that she’d made the exclamation aloud.
“I’m glad you approve.” He walked right up to the dais upon which two thrones sat, one slightly larger than the other, both gorgeously carved of the same ice. “Now I know why this one was carved like it was,” he said, climbing the stairs to look down at the throne that had been carved into flowers.
Poppy slowly climbed the stairs as well, her gaze fixed on the ice-carved blooms. Once she was close enough to tell what they were, she asked, “Are those… poppies?”
“They are,” he said softly. “Poppies are the only flower that will flourish beyond a certain northern point. All this time, I’d thought that was the only reason they’d been added to the throne.”
She met his gaze, and there was no mistaking what he’d left unsaid. She, herself, was trying to register the un-ignorable coincidence the throne’s decorations implied, when something large moved away from the wall behind Kristopher.
Her vision shifted. The object was large and rounded. It rose slowly into view, snow colored and massive, and Poppy felt her heart drop into her stomach. Her throat tightened, her eyes widened, and she tried to speak, tried to warn her companion, but the first sounds out of her mouth were babbling.
Kristopher must have not only noticed the expression on her face, but understood its significance, because he instantly turned and back-stepped, ducking simultaneously as if to dodge a sword or axe swing. In fact, it was an impressively agile move suggesting years of fighting experience. But when he spun to face what his instincts told him was an attacker, he stopped and straightened. And a smile stole his features.
“Ah. Now I see why your coloring was suddenly the same as my sister’s.” He chuckled softly. “Don’t worry, you’re safe. This is Meridian.”
The polar bear rose on its back legs to a height that made her feel dizzy, more than doubling Kristopher’s stature by a long shot, then dropped easily back down onto all fours. He made a low growling-moaning sound that ironically seemed anything but threatening. Kristopher strode over to the giant beast and lovingly tousled his thick white fur. The bear nudged his chest with his black nose, then turned that nose back toward Poppy and sniffed the air between them.
“Meridian, this is Poppy. Poppy, this is Meridian.”
Poppy felt her heart leave her stomach and go back to residing in her chest, though she still took another step back. It was a bear, after all. She cleared her throat and found her voice. “He’s… he’s a polar bear,” she said softly.
&n
bsp; “More or less. He once was. Now he’s a Dire Bear. Once they’ve lived in the Winter Kingdom long enough, polar bears grow a few sizes. Then their fur truly loses all of its coloring.”
The bear was certainly larger than Poppy thought Polar Bears were. When it had risen up on its hind legs, it had been more than twice Kristopher’s height. She would imagine that to be around twelve or thirteen feet tall. At the shoulder now, the bear was taller than she was. That was big.
But then again, she had no idea how big polar bears were. She’d never met a polar bear in person, despite her years in Canada. It had just been the way luck played out, she guessed. She’d also never seen the Northern Lights. That one kind of pissed her off.
Poppy looked carefully at the bear’s fur and did notice that there was no difference at all between it and the white of the ice around them. There was no yellow in the fur, as there tended to be in polar bears. The fact that it was so very white was why she hadn’t noticed the bear to begin with. He’d literally blended in with the castle.
“And… he’s yours?” she queried next, just as softly.
“If you mean, is he my pet, no. He belongs to William, if he belongs to anyone. But Meridian is his own bear, aren’t you Mer?”
The bear nodded. Actually nodded.
“Um….”
Kristopher looked up at her as he continued to give the bear’s fur deep strokes. His gorgeous blue eyes were shining. “William Balthazar Solan is the Time King. He frequently visits my kingdom.” He smiled, stepping away from the bear to stuff his hands casually into the front pockets of his jeans. “He says it suits him. I think he likes the solitude, and I know it makes him feel more comfortable to be surrounded with something a little older than the mortal realm. Plus, as I said, the castle is located in the Ice of Time, so it shares a fundamental characteristic William can relate to.”
This was too much for Poppy to mentally digest. It was just too much. “I think I need to sit down.”
Kristopher stepped away from the bear. “Well, it just so happens you have a seat right here,” he replied, moving back up the dais to the smaller throne. “As I’m sure you’ve figured out by now, Poppy,” he continued, pinning her with those crystal blue eyes. “This throne is yours.”
Chapter Sixteen
793 A.D. – The Winter Kingdom
It was a good thing he’d taken the seat when he had, because his legs gave out altogether at that point, plunking him down upon the ice throne none-too-gently. He expected to rapidly decline into oblivion after that, since he’d already been warming up with the final stages of freezing to death. However, the moment his rump hit the chair, things began to change.
He hadn’t realized it until it happened, but his vision had been going in the moments before he sat down. It had obviously been blurred, because now it cleared up, revealing the throne room around him like a diamond someone had finally polished. His joints and muscles loosened up, infused with blood that had previously fled everything but his heart in that desperate attempt to keep him alive. The pain in his fingers and face instantly receded, and he could bend his knuckles once more. He curled his hands over the ends of the throne’s arm rests as even the feeling came back to his feet.
At first, it hurt, but not nearly as much as it should have. Erikk had gone from nearly frozen before to warm as human flesh was supposed to be, and normally, it hurt like hell. First, you’d feel warmth, then heat, then electric zapping, and all three would intensify until you were nearly in tears, and whatever part of your body it was that was warming up turned the color of rubies.
But this time, there was a mere flush of heat, a few short crackles, and within moments, his entire body felt back to normal. He had no time to ponder the transformation however, because when he closed his eyes to enjoy the wave of contentment that stole over him, visions began to flash before his closed lids.
He saw ten thousand things, in ten thousand times. With the visions came the knowledge of what they were and when they were, and why. He watched and he learned and he understood.
It happened in the space of heartbeats, fractions of time. Yet it encompassed generations. Countless memories flashed and moved, countless stories – beginning, middle, and end – were told in the span of a single grain of sand through the hourglass. They moved him, touched him, taught him.
And when Erikk opened his eyes, he was a different man.
Welcome to your kingdom, your majesty.
The voice again. But now he knew what it was. It was the voice of Winter. His whole life, he’d associated winter with a god, perhaps Ullr or Skaoi. No one ever really knew for sure, because gods never conveniently appeared before mortals to clear things up: “Hi there. I’m Ullr, the one you’ve been worshipping your whole life with blind faith. Yep. It’s really me. Guess what? You were right! Everyone else was wrong! I’m real! Congratulations and nice job.” No, it was sort of up to a toss of the dime or a person’s mood or circumstance, so Erikk had never been certain who to associate winter with, if anyone at all.
Well, now he knew. Winter was not associated with anything. Winter belonged to itself – and with good reason.
Why me? he asked it quietly.
There was a period of silence before the voice answered. When it finally did, it was with a tone that hinted at secrets. Not only you, it answered like a cold wisp of wind. Then there was a much longer pause, as if a deep meaning were hidden within the words, and it was Erikk’s job to discover it. But he’d already learned so much that day, and there was nothing Winter could do or say now that would surprise him. So, Erikk waited with a new patience, one he had not had in the youth of his mortality.
But one he had now.
I am lonely, the voice told him. In Erikk’s head, the images, the stories, and the memories Winter had given him flashed again, a loop of remembrance, and he understood. If he’d been Winter, he would have been lonely too. It wasn’t exactly the reason that he himself had been chosen as sovereign of the realm, but it was a reason Winter had chosen anyone at all. For now, it would do.
Erikk was about to ask, “What now?” when the voice spoke again, this time with urgency. Your sister. Erikk blinked. “What?” he said aloud, breaking the silence.
You must go to your sister. She is dying.
Erikk leapt out of the throne, moving with a strength and speed he hadn’t had before he’d walked into the ice castle. At once, he saw an image of his little sister in his head. He saw her face clearly, but everything around her was blurred. He focused on her. Show me, he commanded, not even knowing what it was he was commanding.
In the image, the environment around Ylva cleared up, going from a blurred landscape to a crisp scene of shrubbery and rock, grass and sea. She was at the shoreline, her hair filthy, her teeth clenched, her skin pale and drawn. Her legs were barely moving, her back was bent, and her entire form was hunched in near death.
At once, Erikk wanted to be with her.
And at once – he was.
One moment, he was standing in front of his throne, drawing an image of her whereabouts in his mind, and the next, the ice castle was gone, the Winter Kingdom was nowhere to be seen, and he was standing beside his sister.
He heard her before he saw her. It was a shakily drawn breath, nearly completely disguised by the howl of a wind coming off the water. There was ice coating the rocks along the coastline, and this struck Erikk as odd, but only subconsciously. His entire consciousness was focused on Ylva as she stumbled a final time and fell to her knees in the frozen sand.
“Ylva!”
The young girl whom Erikk barely recognized as his sibling froze in place, her gaze locked on the ground. Erikk knelt beside her, his hands taking her shoulders, his eyes searching her face. But she so slowly swung her eyes up toward his, he could tell she did not believe what she was seeing. She had the look of sickness about her, both mental and physical.
She mouthed his name, just the shape of her pale, cracked lips and no sound.
; “Ylva, what has happened?”
He’d been gone only a few hours. A day, at most. How could this wretched creature before him be the same beautiful young girl he’d left in his village at morning’s light? “My god, what happened, Ylva? Speak to me!”
This time, when she mouthed his name, a whisper came out, weak but precious. “Erikk?”
“Yes, Ylva, it’s me! It’s me, sweet girl.” He gave up then, and simply drew her trembling, dying form into his arms. When he did, he felt her bones through her furs. The furs themselves were filthy and covered in muck, worn thin by weather or wear. This was not the sister he’d left behind.
No, it is not, said Winter. She is older now.
Time had passed. He knew this now. The memories, visions, images and knowledge he had acquired had not in fact been given to him in the space of mere moments. The girl before him was years older than she’d been when he’d gone after Bjarke.
Save her, he told Winter. Save her now as you did me or I will leave the kingdom, and you will be alone.
There was only a brief pause this time before Winter replied. Bring her here.
You bring her there! Bring us both right now.
Winter obeyed. Erikk clasped his sister tightly in his arms and blinked. When he opened his eyes again, he was in the throne room of the castle. He knelt at its center with Ylva’s skinny, bedraggled form lying on the floor before him, her head in his lap.
Now save her.
She will become a part of this world, Winter warned.
I understand. He didn’t care. Having his sister be a part of some world was better than a part of none. Do it.
As you wish, your majesty.
Erikk gazed down at Ylva’s face, and it began to change. Little by little, the coloring of her skin morphed from the gray pallor of death to a soft, fair hue nearly as white as snow. Her cracked lips healed over and tinted a gentle pink. Her lashes, which had been barren and thinned with malnourishment began to fill out, lengthening and darkening until they were once more beautifully full.
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